


Who Put Peter in the Wych Elm?

by iamq



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, Spider-Man - All Media Types, Spider-Man: Homecoming (2017)
Genre: Gen, Hurt Peter Parker, Inspired by Stranger Things (TV 2016), Kidnapped Peter Parker, Kidnapping, Ned Leeds is a Good Bro, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Peter Parker Needs a Hug, Protective May Parker (Spider-Man), Tony Stark Acting as Peter Parker's Parental Figure, Tony Stark Needs a Hug
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-03-25
Updated: 2019-09-24
Packaged: 2019-12-07 04:10:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 8,835
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18229706
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/iamq/pseuds/iamq
Summary: “’Physics Prodigy’ Peter Benjamin Parker, 17, missing from his Queens apartment shared with his Aunt, May Parker. He was reported missing after failing to return from his day at school, and Ms Parker and the police are highly worried for his wellbeing. Peter Parker is a cheerful, friendly young boy of approximately 5’6” to 5’7” in height, and was last seen leaving the shared apartment at 0730 hours, dressed in a dark blue shirt, light blue jeans and a grey hoodie. He is of a fair and pale complexion, has brown eyes and brown hair, and weighs around 62kg.”"Peter Parker goes missing.The series of events that follow are nothing short of horrifying.





	1. 50 Hours

“Boss, I really need to talk to you about something.”

Tony Stark raised an eyebrow at the man stood in front of him, Harold “Happy” Hogan, holding onto a starkpad with an expression that told Tony that bad tides were a’coming.

“Doesn’t everyone?” The billionaire remarked, picking up a small breadboard circuit and fiddling with the wires there.  
“It’s about… hell, I don’t know how to explain this, Tones, it’s about the kid.”  
“The kid? Which kid?” Tony changed the alignment of one of the wires and held a screwdriver in his mouth as he forced the wire into place, glancing up at Happy as the disappointed silence drew on.  
“Tony, _the_ kid. Flies planes into beaches, daily voicemails kid.”  
“Ooh, Peter. Little spiderboy. What’s wrong with him?”  
“I was hoping you could answer that. Kid’s been totally radio silent, I haven’t heard a _thing_ from him for like, a week. And after the Toomes accident, he was quiet then- you know I wouldn’t come to you if I wasn’t worried.”  
“Take a deep breath Hap, get that blood pressure under control. Hey, FRIDAY?” Tony sets down the breadboard, standing up to move himself and his friend over to one of FRIDAY’s in-wall screens.  
“What’s up, boss?”  
“Can you go and check on Peter for me? The little Spiderkid with the mutation, has he been active in Queens? Swingin’ around, fighting crime… all the littleman stuff.”  
“Of course. His social media pages haven’t been active since after the Toomes incident, and recent reports in Queens and Brooklyn say that Spider-man hasn’t been sighted for up to around a week. At the same time, concerning news reports were released about a Peter Parker, aged 17. Facial recognition scans of the boy photographed in these reports and of my recalled video footage of Peter relay that they are the same person.”  
“Yeah, yeah, technobabble, what’s up? Kid get hurt or something? Do I need to help out with hospital bills?”  
“According to the news reports, Peter Parker was reported missing approximately two days ago, and has not been found. He was reported missing at 1600 hours by his caregiver, May Parker, after he failed to return home from Midtown Tech on a Monday afternoon. Would you like me to read the news reports of his disappearance? I can also show you the live footage reels of the inc-“  
Happy and Tony exchange concerned glances in eachother’s directions, both of them entirely unaware that the young superhero had even gone missing in the first place. Not patrolling for a few days would’ve been enough to get them calling him up, concerned, let alone complete radio silence.  
“No, shh. Why wasn’t I told about this?”  
“You told me to mute news on Spider-man or Peter Parker unless someone came to you in person.”  
“What? Why did I do that?”  
Tony looks outraged, but FRIDAY doesn’t answer, instead bring up the plans for Peter’s iron-spider suit, a complicated but beautiful nanotech machine with extending spider legs to help him move. It had been Tony’s pride and joy when he’d finished designing it and-  
“I believe Ms Potts described you as “sulking.””  
“Christ on a- look, FRIDAY, note for next time, “muting” heroes should last for maybe five minutes at best. And if Peter ever goes missing, I want _immediate_ contact. Happy, go and pick up May Parker, I’ll… call the military or something.”  
“You know… he’s probably fine. He’s probably just in the hands of some mediocre mini stalker and we’ll snatch him back up and he’ll spend a week in Bruce and Cho’s care and then he’ll be right as rain. Kids bounce back, Tony.”  
“But what if-“ Tony shakes his head, silencing his own thoughts. “Go and get May. I’m sure she’ll want us to do something, and with her permission we can send out the suits and some others and-“  
Happy has already left, the doors closing gently in his wake. He must be worried.

Tony opens up his starkpad and settles down into his seat, letting the lumens burn his eyes as he clicks on the first link and reads.

 _“’Physics Prodigy’ Peter Benjamin Parker, 17, missing from his Queens apartment shared with his Aunt, May Parker. He was reported missing after failing to return from his day at school, and Ms Parker and the police are highly worried for his wellbeing. Peter Parker is a cheerful, friendly young boy of approximately 5’6” to 5’7” in height, and was last seen leaving the shared apartment at 0730 hours, dressed in a dark blue shirt, light blue jeans and a grey hoodie. He is of a fair and pale complexion, has brown eyes and brown hair, and weighs around 62kg.”  
_His heart clenches. How could FRIDAY not have told him, and what kind of cruel trick of fate was it that made Peter run away, or be kidnapped, or get lost right when Tony had been sulking over his rejection for the Avengers team. He ran his hands through his hair, took another sip of coffee, sighed heavily and opened the next link, settling back down into the chair and glancing quickly at the time. Barely any time had passed, but with each second that drew past, Tony knew Peter could be getting further away.

“ _Peter Parker’s disappearance stretches past it’s fiftieth hour as the NYPD appeal for more witnesses to come in and give a statement on any information that they have on the missing teenager. His phone has been turned off and untraceable, and there have been no witness reports yet. Although Peter is not considered at risk to himself or others, he is vulnerable, and nearing the end of his crucial 72 hours post-disappearance time period, where he is at the highest likelihood of being found safe and well. First responding officers have reported that this does not seem planned, moving his disappearance from a case of a teenager running away from home to something more malicious- possibly a kidnapping, or a murder. An AMBER alert has been sent out in concern for his wellbeing. May Parker has made a statement in public._  
“Please, Peter if you’re watching this or- if you know where Peter is and you’re watching this, let him come home. He’s just my little boy, and I’m sure he’s scared. Peter, please, if you’ve just run away, you can come home and you won’t be in trouble. I miss you so much sweetheart. I ‘larb’ you.””  
Tony blinked back his own tears as he watched May turn away from the flashing cameras in the video, being lead back into the safety of the police station by the uniformed officers and lawyers next to her, concern written over their faces.

 _“And that’s the end of our report for tonight. So Peter, or anyone who knows where he is, please, call me, or the police, and let him come home. I love you Peter. I miss you. Everyone here does.”_  



	2. 80 Hours

_“Searches continue for missing teenager Peter Parker as police remind us he has been missing for now over 80 hours approximately. According to a statement made by officers, this is now turning into a body retrieval, not a rescue. In more positive news, Tony Stark has joined the search for Peter Parker, who is reportedly an intern at Stark Industries, Mr Stark having deployed the majority of his prototype or previous-design Iron suits to aid in the search for the young Parker.”_

The TV turned off silently as Tony rubbed his temples, staring down at the paper in his hands.  
Peter’s face smiled up at him, a dorky High School ID photo with more information about him printed underneath. A plea for his safe return was branded into Tony’s eyelids along with that smile, that picture of youthful hope.

“How could I have endangered him like that?” He speaks aloud, DUM-E whirring gently to his side and offering up Peter’s toolbox- bright red and stuck with little Avengers stickers, because the kid was so cheerful and excited and thankful to be working with his hero. And DUM-E knew Tony was sad, and he knew working with Peter made Tony happy, and he wanted to see Peter.  
“Peter’s not- DUM-E, Peter’s not gonna be in the lab for a bit.”  
DUM-E lowered the toolbox to the desk and resolutely placed his claw over the picture of Peter, chirping lowly. Tony stroked his hydraulic arm and hummed to himself.

“Well,” he stated, voice thick with emotion, “Maybe I’ll hop in a suit and keep looking tonight.”  
“Pepper has disabled your access to all the suits, Boss.” FRIDAY helpfully adds.  
“Oh?” He asks. He’s too exhausted to stir up a witty joke.  
“She says Peter wouldn’t want you to stay up looking. ‘Grumpy Old Man’ protocol reinstates that if you’ve been in your lab for more than 10 hours I am to warn you. There’s a video that Peter made, I can play it for you if you request.”  
“A video?”  
“Yes.”  
“Play it?” He asks, tentatively.  
A blue holoscreen lights up in front of him. It takes a moment to load, in which Tony contemplates closing it and just leaving the lab, but he can’t. This video might be the last time he sees Peter-

That thought is pushed from his mind when the video begins.  
“Alright, FRIDAY are you recording?”  
“Always, Peter.”  
“Creepy!” He remarks. The teenager is sprawled over the rolling chair in the lab, glancing off to the side as he whirls a mini-spanner in his hands, smiling at the camera FRIDAY must have trained on him.  
“It’s for your protection. Baby Monitor protocol states-“  
“That I must always be watched incase I get like, killed or kidnapped, or whatever.”  
A warm tear slips down Tony’s cheek at the cheeky smile on Peter’s face as he jokes, because Peter Parker could never get killed, or kidnapped. Because Peter Parker is safe, because he’s in the Tower, and FRIDAY is always watching, and the Baby Monitor protocol states that Peter Parker must be under constant supervision in case of danger. In case he gets kidnapped.  
There’s another tear.  
_Or killed._

“Anyways, this video isn’t about me,” How Tony wishes it was, “it’s about _youuu,_ Mister Stark!”  
Peter bounces forwards in the chair.  
“Now this video is only gonna play when you’ve been in the lab for hours and stuff, and Pepper asked me specifically to make it because of my ‘puppy eyes’, yeah.” Peter leans back in the chair now, flicking a pencil in his hands- he must’ve picked it up when Tony was overthinking and not watching, and there’s a forlorn look on Peter’s face.  
“She said I can make you do whatever, cus you’re my…”  
_Dad_ , Tony thinks.  
“Mentor. Something like that.” Another sad look graces Peter’s face, and Tony stares hard at it. Peter has this tell whenever he’s overthinking something- he furrows his brows and his eyes dart to the bottom right and he can’t talk whilst he thinks. Even his hands still in their constant motion.  
“But whatever, right? Not what this video is for. I’m only here to tell you to go to sleep, Mister Stark! America needs a super cool,” He stands up on the chair, posing, his arms in mock fists, “super strong,” he mimes kissing a flexed bicep, “and _super_ well-rested Iron Man.”  
He mocks himself asleep, two hands pressed palm-to-palm at the side of his head. When he opens his eyes he smiles immediately at the camera, flushed pink.  
“Oh man, this is going to be so embarrassing when you see it. I hope it makes you laugh, Mister Stark! Don’t bully me too hard or I’ll web you to something and then go enjoy a nice, long, leisurely swing through all of Queens. Maybe even a nice walking tour of the Tower. Who knows, it’s a free world baby! But uh, in all seriousness, Mister Stark,”

  
The tone of the video has changed, and Peter leans forwards self-consciously, rubbing his hands together.  
“Pepper says you’ve done like, really well recently. She says you don’t hole yourself up in the Tower anymore and you’re- look, I won’t get sappy,” Peter blinks harshly a few times, “I just know you’re doing good. And I… I think that’s cooler than the Iron Man stuff combined. But if you’re in the lab for ten hours, or longer, or whatever, that means you’re not- not doing good. And like, sure, that’s okay, we don’t always- we all have off days,” Peter laughs weakly, something hidden below his summery exterior that Tony wants to open up and prod, and pry, and ask, “…and that’s fine. But if- if this is something bad, I just want you to know, Mister Stark, I couldn’t have done this without you. You gave me tools to... to help more people. I can’t thank you enough. Please take care of yourself. You deserve it.”  
Peter shifts forwards again, and a smile graces his face. Tony wishes he could pause that moment and materialise it, bring it to life in front of him, hold Peter close to his heart and tell him that he deserves the world.  
“Unless you’re in there making me like, a _sick_ suit. In which case, come and get me to help out! There’s no shame in your creaky old man bones needing some help lifting all that tech-“  
The video closes on Peter laughing to himself, leaving Tony bathed in the aquamarine glow of the screen. Tony can’t find words through the grief, heavy in his heart, but he rises.

The threat of eighty hours looms over his head like a fog, but Peter’s words are like a lighthouse in a storm.  
_“You deserve it.”_  
His bed is welcoming, and warm, and after telling FRIDAY on no uncertain terms to immediately wake him if anything changes regarding Peter, he falls into a deep sleep.  



	3. 88 Hours

May Parker sighed, staring down at the black coffee in her plastic biodegradable cup. A kind police officer had given it to her when she’d left the station after it passed midnight on the third day.   
It was killing her. The taxi ride was silent- maybe because it was midnight, and with her smudged three-day old makeup and messy hair she looked like a drunk student, or maybe because the driver recognised her as the woman with the missing child.

She’d only left because there was nothing more for her to do. It didn’t take officers long, with Stark’s help, to categorise CCTV footage and find the videos of Peter walking into school, hunched over and walking quickly- which the Chief Inspector noted down.  
“What’s wrong with that?” May had asked, desperation lacing into her tone. Had Peter known something was off? Had he been scared? Was he _still_ scared, wherever he was?  
“It looks like he’s socially anxious. He’s not interacting with the environment but look, when those cars are about to crash, Peter glances over. Maybe he felt like something was off- he looks on edge. Is he a twitchy kid?”  
May blanks.

“I don’t… when he was a kid, he was always really friendly. Trusts really quickly, always gives everyone a second chance- he’s a little ray of sunshine. I guess when we go out to eat he gets a little more nervous but I thought it was just him not liking the busy city. He’s an introvert-“ She’s babbling, and the police officer next to her, long black hair pulled into a loose ponytail and smile tight, gently puts a hand on May’s shoulder blade to comfort her.   
“Ma’am, trust me, all this information is helping us. If Peter ran away, we need to know why he might’ve done so. Can you think why he might’ve?”  
 Something about the woman’s tone makes May angry. _If_ Peter ran- as if there was any doubt that he was taken.  
“No!” May blurts out, before regaining her composure. “There is _no_ reason- he isn’t like that. He goes out for Decathlon and his friend’s birthday parties and Ned’s house, and that’s it. Peter hates being lonely, and he- he loves me. I’m not his mother but-“  
“So you haven’t argued recently? He hasn’t been acting differently, maybe made some new friends? Acted sadder, or..?” The police officer presses.  
“He’s not… He started sneaking out at night a while ago, but c’mon, every teenager sneaks out. I can’t think… he was upset two weeks, he lost his internship at Stark Industries but it was a misunderstanding, I got a phone call saying he’d been reinstated and Tony Stark came around to talk to him about duties and- he was happy. Ecstatic. I was so proud of him.”

 

“And that’s you home, miss.” The taxi-driver smiles sadly at her, parked outside of the apartment block. May wipes away a stray tear and puts on her best smile before getting out, clutching the still-hot coffee in her cold fingers. A quick glance at her phone says that it’s one AM, 81 hours approximately since she dialled in that phone call. May doesn’t know how long it takes her to get up the stairs and unlock the door because she’s in a shocked haze. Maybe she should be back at the station telling them every minuscule detail she can think of, but the coffee in her hands is warm, and even the high caffeine content can’t touch how _tired_ she is. Every sip is bitter and painful on her dry throat, but it gives her the energy needed to open up Peter’s bedroom door.

Everything is as it was 81 hours ago. Everything is as it was before that, when Peter left for school. The world is dark and quiet, and moonlight streams in from the cracks in his blinds. His school logo sweater is thrown over the edge of his bed, which is a rumbled mess of blankets and his duvet. There’s stray LEGO on the floor that she asked him to clean up when he got home, and his lava lamp is bubbling away next to the bed.

When she picks up the school sweater, it takes everything she has not to break down. The hollow ache in her chest is so familiar- learning that Mary and Richard’s plane had gone down was the same uncertain ache, mourning their absence but not quite grieving. Small hope fighting against everything that Peter would be found soon, that her phone would ring and she’d be able to welcome him home and kiss his forehead and threaten him to keep safe. Hope that she clung on to.

Taking the shirt with her feels like the obvious choice. May hasn’t sat on her bed hugging a sweater for a long time, but she still knows where Ben’s old ones are- sometimes she needs them to comfort herself, and sometimes Peter will take them just to hug. Losing him affected both of them, and losing Peter…

The two sweaters are warm. She wears Ben’s like a shirt, hugging Peter’s to her chest. With her face buried into the soft fabric it’s almost like when he would have nightmares and curl up to her, seeking comfort.

“How could I let him go? Oh god, oh _god,_ ” May sobs into the clothes, lowering herself into what could be a sleeping position on the bed, folding the sweater up to her. The silence in the rest of the flat seems to be mocking her. She cries herself into a dreamless sleep- tossing and turning in the bed but never letting go of the royal blue sweater in her hands.

It’s the knocking at the front door that wakes her up, impatient and heavy-handed. May pulls her hair into a medium-high ponytail before she properly gets up from the bed- feeling better rested but still incredibly tired, her limbs clicking as she stands up. Peter’s sweater is put aside on the bed pillows and she gives it one last glance before heading to the door.


	4. 91 Hours

The door swings open to May’s impatient visitor.  
“Happy,” She breathes out, half-relieved, half-distressed. Ever since Tony had become involved in Peter’s case, a visit from Happy had the opportunity to bring her the worst news she’d ever heard.   
At first, she’d hated the man. He was brash, rough, unemotional and intolerant, and had only really interacted with her when she was needed to approve new sits for Peter, or whenever he carted Peter around the city in the sleek black vehicle.

Ever since Peter had started to spend more time in Tony’s tower, it seemed like May had more time to get to know the exasperated chauffeur. If anything, the odd nickname had inspired a few conversations, and by the end of it she wasn’t below inviting him out for a coffee when she got a break from work.

Happy looks… _rough._ Despite the constant façade of annoyance that he always projects towards Peter’s antics, he looked worried- dark bags under his eyes and his normally pristine suit slightly rumpled. Even his hair was unkempt and fluffy, but he gave her the warmest smile he could manage.  
“What is it?” May questioned, unable to say the words, “any news?”  
“No, no,” Happy reassured, and she relaxed visibly. _No news is better than bad news._  
The tiredness returned in full as the weight of his answer sunk in.  
“No news,” she repeated wearily, “so why are you here? I’m not exactly in a romance mood.”  
“Tony wants to see you, up at the Industries. He wants to keep you there where Peter will be receiving his medical care when we find him.”  
“What if he doesn’t head to the Tower though? If he’s run away form home, he might come back here, where there are less people and less cameras and-“  
“He just wants your help. He’s sending out the suits and he wants you to be there- there’s no way he won’t be found if we…”  
“Alright, alright,” May sighs, pressing a hand against her forehead as she thinks, “I’ll come down. It won’t kill me to be there when you send the suits out and I hope- God, I hope they’ll find him.”

 

The drive is quiet.

Peter told May that drives with Happy usually were- the man had started off as cold and practically ignoring the excited ramblings of the fifteen year old in his back seat, but ever since Peter had defeated Toomes, there had been an unspoken, deep respect between the two of them. His answers were still more or less non-committal grunts, but occasionally he would drop a little bit of advice.   
But this was more than quiet. This was silent.

May sat in the passenger seat, staring idly out the front window. There wasn’t anything on the radio aside from a low hum of chatter- some podcast that Happy liked to listen to on his long drives where Peter couldn’t fill the silence.

There was nothing for her to say. How could she sum up the cautious relationship that they had when the weight of Peter’s disappearance hung so heavily over her? And how could Happy think of anything else?  
“We’re here,” He broke the silence.   
“Why did you come now?” May asks as she steps out of the car, blinking in the bright light of the morning sun, low in the sky but steadily rising. The front of Stark Industries is quiet, abandoned, not milling with the usual stream of workers and visitors that May has seen the few other times she’s either driven past or visited. The white walls stick out like a sore thumb amongst the greenery and the small water fountain, like a new headstone in an old cemetery.

Happy takes her jacket as they walk in, straight through the front entrance. The last time she’d entered it had been through the back, rushed through because Peter was bleeding out in that stupid Spiderman suit and they needed her to sign papers saying she didn’t mind the many, _many_ blood transfusions they’d done to keep him stable.

Just the thought of that made her stop in her steps, standing alone in the empty pavilion. Everything was normal.

The birds were singing, the wind blew gently through her hair like a warm breeze as the temperature rose as the sun took rise in the air. Down the street she could see people going about their days- a blurry figure set out tables in the grass outside a restaurant, a worker- probably a late morning shift on desk duty, walking like a quick trot in her high heels. None of these people knew Peter, or the turmoil May was going through just watching them.

She thought again, letting Happy rest his hand gently on her side, about Peter every Friday night, running into this glass castle to spend the evening and first day of the weekend with Tony, and spending the entire Sunday talking May’s ears off with tales of all the things the two scientific partners build or tested.  
“No one else knows,” May couldn’t meet Happy’s eyes, couldn’t see the grief reflected from hers in them,  “No one else knows that he’s the last- the last good thing I have. How can I keep going without him when he- when he could be- Peter could be-“  
  
Happy sighed, lowering his hand down to hold May’s.  
“Peter could be… dead. And that’s- it’s breaking all of our hearts. But Tony won’t let up just because Peter _might_ be dead. He’s got some leads- nothing big, just y’know, kids who match Peter’s size and shape and he’s hunting them like no-thing. We’re going to bring Peter back even if- even if he’s gone.”  
“What do I do? If Peter’s gone, what do I do?” Happy stared down at the two people watching them from a distance, businessmen wearing suits and shades obviously staring them down. He guided May inside as she kept talking, only focusing back into the conversation when May’s voice grew a pitch.  
“I promised Ben, Mary- all of them, I promised that I’d keep him safe.”  
“And Tony promised you he’d keep Peter safe. None of us were watching him when he went. Do you blame any of us fo-“

“Mister Hogan?” A voice called, delicate and lilted.  
Happy turned to the source, the wispy blonde haired woman who May had seen running in late, clutching a starkpad to her chest and brushing her hair back behind her ear.  
“Yes?” He asked, impatiently, May’s eyes shifting from Happy to the woman.  
“Mr Stark wants to see you both? Upstairs? He says that he has a definite lead.”


	5. 99 Hours

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning for descriptions of a corpse and vomit in this chapter near the end.

“What do you mean he’s not here?” May balked, looking between herself and Happy.  
“I…” The body guard looked completely clueless at the new situation, scanning the room with his eyes as if Tony might randomly walk out in front of them from behind a work table, like some sick magician.   
“So what, he calls us halfway across the damn city for a lead and he’s not even-“  
“Miss Parker,” FRIDAY interjects from the ceiling, “Tony Stark has left the building to identify a body in the Hudson river. He has asked that you be informed if they believe it is Peter.”   
“…Do they?”  
There is a silence. May finds it hard to believe, a woman as grown on books and lack of technology as anyone else her age, that a robot could feel sorrow- pain, even mourn, but there’s something odd about the AI’s voice as it comes through, almost thick with emotion, almost… resigned.  
“It looks likely. But,” And all too human, the AI stumbles over the next few words, her- it’s?- voice becoming less smooth as it grasps over the stutter- “Mister Stark- Boss- hasn’t sent me any information yet.”  
May presses her palms against her closed eyelids and holds back the burn of tears.

 

 

Miles away, the water soaking into his expensive leather shoes only added another factor to Tony’s persistent dread.

He’d been stood at the edge of the Hudson for an hour or so now, deep in a bank where the water would probably drown him if it was high tide. The rocks under his feet had scattered into soft mud as he’d walked further to the edge of the water, where many people, clad in sheer plastic bodysuits, were crowded around a blue jumper.

The lead. A Midtown Tech jumper, soaked through with muddy river water and sodden, washed up on the shore of the Hudson at some stupid early hour, and only now being reported to Tony Stark.

Because it was Peter’s shirt.

_Peter P,_ scrawled on the tag on the inside, a small glue stain on the cuff that Tony could remember causing when he startled him in the lab, and that was all. Enough to confirm for everyone that Peter Parker’s sweater was in the River Hudson, and Peter Parker could be in there too.

“I want… to send out divers. How do they do it? I need-“ Tony lifted his hand to his ear, activating FRIDAY.   
“Boss?” She asked, tentatively. If Tony hadn’t hand-written every line of her code, he’d almost mistake it for empathy.  
“Get May down here, the kid’s aunt-“  
“May Parker is awaiting your presence in the conference room of Star-“  
“Yeah, and I could have her nephew’s corpse on my hands so, get her down here okay? I’m not equipped for this emotional shit.”  
His voice was rough around the edges and trembling. Even an AI would know he was faking a mask of confidence and dismissal.   
“Affirmative, boss. I’ve messaged Happy for you.”

Tony lowered his hand. FRIDAY went silent in his ear. He took a deep breath, straightened his suit, and stepped forwards into the soft mud.

“Hey, policeman, top-dog, what’s your name?” Tony snapped, immediately gaining the attention of no more than four officers. One of them, balding on the crown of his head, and pale eyed, stepped forwards.  
“I’m uh, Chief Powell, Mr- Mr Stark, sir. I was the first responder to the call about the uh, the jumper when they found it. It was a jogger.”  
“It always is” Tony swallowed hard on the anxiety rising up in his stomach as his eyes fixated on the blue fabric, stained and covered in gritty sand. It was being bagged up in front of his eyes, folded away into a plastic bag with an evidence marker on it.

“So, uh, what did you want, Mister Stark, sir-“  
“I want divers. Scuba divers, Olympic divers, whatever, get them in that water and get- get them searching. If Pe- If the kid’s body is down there, I want it up before any press or any fuckin’ News station gets their cameras on _anything,_ hear me? A single picture goes out of this kid’s corpse and you, and every other officer in this whole damn district will have their lives made a personal hell.”  
The police officer went grey, glancing back at his co-workers for any sign of assistance. They all averted their eyes, either having been told tall tales of Stark’s youth or not willing to get into a fight before dawn.  
“Sir you can’t threaten a police off-“  
Tony lifted his head slightly.   
Despite his short stature, he was able to look down upon the man because of the way the officer was hunched over, curled in on himself with morning tiredness and insecurity. Tony was no stranger to early hours or stress, or even being afraid.   
He pressed back his shoulders and squared up, pulling his sunglasses down and meeting the officer’s eyes.  
“I can tell you right now, Chief _Powell,_ that was not a threat. That was a goddamn promise.”  
The chief took a step back and touched his radio, which beeped in confirmation. He and Tony met eyes again, their stares disbalanced- Tony’s anger, and Chief Powell’s intimidation, shining brightly in both their eyes.  
“Can I get uh, an ETA on those divers? We need them here as soon as possible, for uh, for recovery.”  
“They’re just coming up to you now,” The radio relayed, static crackling in the message, “We got those five kids from uh, what’s it, with the Youtube? They were in the station earlier with their gear and said they didn’t mind coming over to search.”  
“Woah, woah,” Tony waved his hands, before pinching the bridge of his nose over his sunglasses, and sighing, _hard_. “What the fuck did I just say about no media? Youtube? Really? Christ’s sake, you want some- some dumbasses to record this and put it on their stupid vlog channel-“  
The officer looks down at his radio, and then back up at Tony, weighing out the situations. His hand reaches back down to his radio.  
“Make sure they’re not uh, not using their cameras, yeah Station?”  
“Affirmative. No cameras, no recording devices. They’re doing this out of good will. …And they’re the only divers with body recovery training this side of New York who are awake this early and this close. They’ll be there in under a minute.”

The sun had risen well over them all by the time Tony felt the attitude shift.

Before, the police officers had been friendly- almost jovial, for lack of a better word- gathered around as an on-call forensic analysis kit had been brought down, trying to take any DNA samples that might be left on the now-air drying jumper, some of them holding steaming thermos’. Tony had taken a seat further up the bank of the river, aware that the water would rise up to cover the soft mud he’d been pacing around over earlier. The mud had almost dried to flakes at the sides of his shoes when he looked up, the emotional change hitting the air like a ball of static energy.

A diver rose up from the water, bobbing in the dark water. He raised one fist in the air, and then, upon the dive scheduler returning the signal, before a second diver broke surface tension and waved his hands frantically. Every police officer on the scene looked over, at attention, and a few murmurs went around the mostly silent crowd.

Tony watched, almost frozen, as the dive co-ordinator walked over to the back of the ambulance, taking a plastic stretcher and pushing it out into the water where it was received by the first diver to surface, who pulled it a few strokes down the river. They were at such a distance that Tony had to squint to make them out properly, but he felt his stomach turn when he saw the second and third diver surface. They held between them something- it looked like a mannequin from where Tony was sat, all stiff limbs and pale, almost pure white skin. A dark blue t-shirt and brown hair that almost looked black because it was wet, and if Tony really, really focused, if he stared until his eyes burnt, he could see curls in that wet mop.

They placed the body onto the plastic stretcher, it’s bright orange burning against Tony’s retinas. They pulled a grey cover over the body, and secured it with black belts that looked like car seatbelts. Tony didn’t realise he was standing until a police woman had grasped his elbow.

“Would you be able to ID this body on scene, Mr Stark?” She asked.   
Her accent was from Queens, maybe even the same area Peter’s was from. She didn’t say Mister the way he did though, she didn’t elongate the word like she was nervous to say it. She didn’t seem to stitch together “Mister” and “Stark” into one word the same way Peter did. He was always so nervous, so full of energy, words stumbling over each other and racing to get out of his mouth. He was so full of life. And he still is, because that body in the river is just another kid, another boy who has another family who has another tragic story who had another future

“I w- I can do that. I can ID him- the- I can ID the body.”   
She smiled, sadly, and stepped back.  
“It won’t be long now. They’re pulling the body up. You can do it right as they take it outta the water. Real quick and easy.”  
Tony’s hands were shaking.   
“Yeah, real quick and easy. Ruins my fucking life real quick and easy. Knee deep in some shitty greywater, right?”   
The officer stepped away.

Tony marched forwards, and then paced backwards. He couldn’t keep still, watching the divers take their sweet time pulling the buoyant stretcher over the water. It seemed as calm as it usually was. He remembered his suit pulling Peter out of this water once- before the Toomes incident. He’d redesigned the parachutes the day after, if Karen sensed that Peter was thrashing or needed to escape, she’d disconnect the wires. After a minute fully submerged in water, they’d fall to pieces anyways.

Karen. How could he tell her Peter was dead? He supposed he wouldn’t have to- because there’s no way that Peter could be dead. That Peter was sat in the fucking Hudson river for the past 98 hours, his lungs probably chock-full of water because he wasn’t floating, and his corpse being dragged over to Tony as he watched it happen.

The plastic stretcher hit the edge of the bank and was pulled up by two police officers. They weren’t gentle but they weren’t rough either- some obvious lack of concern because it was so obviously a corpse, but at the same time a shred of respect for the deceased’s dignity.   
Tony stepped forwards. He didn’t have to worry, because it wasn’t Peter, and in a few days when Peter would be home safe and sound, he’d invite him over to the compound and watch those Star Wars films with him and finally understand all the kid’s jokes and sit down and hug him real tight the way he should’ve done in that car all those months ago. He didn’t flinch when the officer pulled back the sheet at first to reveal the brown, wet curls plastered against a pale forehead because it couldn’t be Peter. He didn’t even pause when they showed him the messy eyebrows and brown eyes with grey sclera, staring bloodshot into the sky. He only turned around and threw up into the bushes nearby when they showed him the stupid blue T-Shirt, with that “the physics is theoretical but the fun is real.” quote on it. The same shirt he’d been wearing in the car when Tony hadn’t hugged him. The same damn shirt.

It was Peter.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm really sorry about the hiatus on these fics. I am going through a lot right now but I'd like to thank you for reading and leaving comments and supporting me. I hope this longer chapter makes up for it. <3


	6. 101 Hours

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> warning for corpse depictions and self harm mentions <3

“You don’t- surely you don’t have to do this. He’s already dead. Why do you need an autopsy? Why do you have to- to ruin his body more? Can’t you just leave him alone?”

May’s cries went un-answered as the police officers shook their heads sadly. She’d known it was Peter’s body from the moment she saw it under the tarp, his hair almost dry now and curly like he’d had a rough night, his veins glowing dark from under his near translucent skin. She’d never needed them to pull back the tarp over his face, because she’d known it from the moment her and Happy had arrived. Happy had nearly thrown up like Tony when he’d seen, when he’d seen Peter’s _corpse_ all stiff and unnatural. Like a doll.

Getting from the edge of the Hudson to the cold basement of some hospital was a blur for Tony. Pepper had arrived at some point, sat in silence, holding his hand, Tony’s head pressed against her shoulder. May hadn’t gone with his body in the back of the ambulance- which carved through the traffic lines silently. It had no sirens on. There was no emergency, there was no life at risk, he was already gone.

He only broke the heavy surface tension of his shock when Pepper handed him a hot drink- some shitty instant coffee, definitely from a machine- and he looked up.  
Happy was stood in the corner of the room, hands shaking so obviously that he’d put his own cup down. He was staring at his phone, no doubt reading all of Peter’s old texts to him. Texts that went unanswered. Tony wondered, if they ever found Peter’s phone, would he have been writing out a text to Happy when he died?

May was sat across from him. She was perfectly still, plastic-foam cup gripped in her hand like she was choking it out, the only perceivable emotion was her rubbing the golden ring on her hand, self-soothing. A small bag was resting at her side, probably full of-

“I bought a spare change of clothes.” She answers, without a question being asked.  
Their eyes meet, level. Two pairs of tired brown eyes, and Tony’s the one who looks down first.  
“Not for me.” She says, and her voice wavers. “I really thought he’d be coming back. All these people I’ve lost and, I guess I just thought he’d be different. I thought we’d find him and all he’d need would be a change of clothes in hospital, or whatever.”  
“Nobody thought he’d-“  
“Why are you here?” She asked.  
Pepper and Happy turned towards the two of them, not moving with their feet but shifting their torsos to the conversation, eyes scanning the pair. They weren’t going to engage but they both knew what May didn’t. _Who_ Peter was.

“What… do you mean?” Tony tried. His voice was rough and he felt like shit, but he wasn’t going to ignore her.  
“I mean, there are a thousand working class kids with amazing brains out here in Queens. And you pick my Peter, and he goes through the roughest time and now, now Tony Stark’s his best friend. It’s all.. something I can’t work out.”  
The door across from them opens. No one looks over.  
“I hope I’m not interrupting anything,” A tall, pale man says, Tony glances over only to grimace at the way the stranger’s white hair is pulled back with gel, so much that it doesn’t move as he speaks, “but we need someone to come in and properly identify the body. Look for birthmarks, stuff like that.”  
May was through those doors before Tony could yield his involvement verbally.

 

“The autopsy is going to be done by someone more ah, specialised.”  
“What do you mean?” May asked curiously, eyes raking up and down the dark corridor. It got colder as they walked further and the man just shook his hand nonchalantly, as if they were discussing her tea preference or the weather.  
“We don’t have a lot of people who do autopsies for drownings here. We had to hire someone out… at no charge to you bereaved of course, the city is paying for it.”  
May glanced at him suspiciously. Something felt wrong.  
“You … don’t have a lot of people to do autopsies for drowning, right at the edge of the Hudson? That doesn’t seem well thought out.”  
The stranger stiffened in front of her. He pushed open the door with one hand and left it lingering there as he passed through, waiting for May to catch up before he answered.  
“Well, it isn’t often people’s children go running into the river and drown themselves.”

May doesn’t rely. A nasty prickle of something settles under her skin, heating her cheeks and wetting her eyes, and she clenches one fist into the soft fabric in her bag and bites her tongue. She has no place to speak out against this man here, as cruel as he seems, because she wants to see Peter before noon is out, and the curious response from the stranger is the least of her worries. Her worries are funeral costs and funeral plans and who has to come and who doesn’t and how she tells Peter’s friends and if the news has already broken and how she’ll be under suspicion again not because they have any evidence but because so many Parkers die on her watch.

And finally, they’re there.

The glass is darkened momentarily but if she squints, if she adjusts the glasses on her face and really stares into it she can make out the edges of the table, the folds of a blanket over her son and then-

The stranger is behind the glass now. The lights flicker, dim, and then run full blast. May can see every damn outline of her kid under that blanket. He’s so rigid.

One of his hands is up above the blanket, resting near his head, fist gently curled up like he’s punching his own cheek but got frozen the moment before he could. The grey elbow pokes out from under the blanket and just as she thinks about that, the stranger pulls the blanket away from Peter’s face.

She spends five minutes staring into his glassy eyes, looking straight up into the ceiling, before she asks him to check for the scar on Peter’s knee.

_He’d tripped over on the stairs to preschool. He hadn’t told any of the teachers, or the nurse, or anyone, but May had noticed his bottom lip trembling and asked him, “hey Petey, my little soldier man, what’s wrong? Had a bad day at school?” and he’d defiantly pulled up his knee to reveal a giant gash. It had made May feel faint at the time but looking bad she had been proud of how brave he was._

“And there’s- on his wrist- two-“

_It was after Ben died. He’d taken to self harming.  
She remembered the shame on his face, the way he’d gone bright red and cried and cried, and he hadn’t gone to hug her but she had enveloped him. She had pulled Peter against her and smoothed his hair back, telling him he was beautiful and strong and they would be ok. She’d let him wear Ben’s sweaters after that, dug out all the ones Peter liked from the bottom of the wardrobe just to comfort him._

“On his shoulder, there’s-“

 _Peter never explained this one. Two jagged scars across his shoulder that dug deep into his collarbone, they looked awful. She never asked and he never told her anything-_ but now she wondered.

 


	7. 186 Hours

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> cw: descriptions of a funeral

“The Lord is my shepherd, I shall not want. He has me lie down in green pastures, he leads me beside the still waters, he revives my soul,”

Tony stood away from the main funeral. He had dark glasses on, stood behind Happy and next to Pepper.

“He guides me on paths of righteousness for His glory,”

The press were here. A respectful distance away from May and the casket, clustered around behind the gates of the synagogue. May had only picked it because it was where Ben was buried, and Pepper had handled the rest of the planning. She was good like that- even though she rarely interacted with Peter, Pepper had her own soft spot in her heart for him, having spent just as much stress on him as she spent on Tony.

“Though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I fear no harm,”

Tony wished his people had been the ones to do the autopsy. He’d forgotten about the spiderbite- and Spider-Man- entirely, and now he guessed he was lucky that they didn’t notice anything.

Tony blinked to himself.   
How could they not have noticed that? Peter’s body would have had multiple healed broken bones, his tensile grip-  
He shook his head. Maybe they saw it and didn’t care, maybe they didn’t even look. They were looking for a drowning and nothing else.

“For you are with me, your rod and your staff do comfort me; you set a table in sight of my enemies-“

They still didn’t know who did it.   
A random murderer in the middle of Queens who kills one kid by pushing him into a river. It bugged Tony. Peter couldn’t swim when he fell in the Hudson because he was tied up in cords and parachutes. Could Peter swim? He thought about it for a moment and then remembered-

_“So, digs with your Aunt. How does that work out?” Tony had asked, desperate for idle chatter in the silence of the laboratory. It was comfortingly quiet, but he could see Peter growing uneasy in the silence._

_“oh, my parents died.” Peter answered nonchalantly, before snapping his head up to meet Tony’s eyes._  
“Sorry, Mister Stark, that was so dark-“ He chuckled to himself idly, looking down at his hands and fiddling with a stray piece of string, “I, uh, I always just- I tell people all the time, you know. I mean not all the time but- yeah. Whatever. But uh, I don’t know. I was little. I just was living with them, and then one day they dropped me off with Ben and May, and then I never saw them again.”  
“Ben?” Tony probes.  
“yeah, Ben- Uncle Ben. He’s the “Benjamin” in my middle name. He’s uh, he’s not around anymore. But he was my dad’s brother and he was really good to me and May, did all the stereotypical uncle things. Made macaroni art, watched my school plays, taught me to swim-“

Taught him to swim.  
Tony’s mind hurt. They marked down his cause of death as drowning- apparently he had signs of thrashing, small abrasions and cuts over his hands and arms that made it look like he’d been bashing against the rocks to try and swim to the surface.

Peter Parker who knew how to swim, who had enhanced super powers, drowned. He didn’t fall from any bridge, he drowned in the shallow rock pools near the edge of the Hudson where he could be scraped around where he thrashed. Maybe it made sense in a world where Peter Parker had asthma, and couldn’t lift more than his backpack, and whose vision was bad enough that he could slip and fall and get carried into the rocks by the undercurrents.

But it didn’t make sense for Peter Parker, mutated superhero, Spider-man.

“You anoint my head with rich oil; my cup overflows, surely goodness and mercy shall follow me in all the days of my life…”

Tony focused on May.

She was in all black- Pepper had offered buying May a new outfit.   
“I’ll handle it all,” already ready to fix their problems, her tablet in hand, “I’ll handle everything. You just take however long you need to-“  
“I can’t go back there. How can I- I go in his room? His cloth-“  
“Just tell us what you need. Whatever you need.”

But she had declined. The dress she wore still fit her- maybe a little more loose on her slight frame than it would’ve been just a few years ago, but still true to form. She leaned down and picked up a handful of soil from next to the gravesite, clenching it in her fist as the casket was lowered down.   
He scanned her form. Had she noticed the inconsistences? Maybe it was a murder. Tony couldn’t think of another explanation- Peter Parker’s body was definitely in that casket, Peter Parker was definitely dead.

Tony watched as May sprinkled the soil over the casket. He tracked it down to her other hand, pressed against her stomach, Peter’s navy Midtown jumper crumpled in her hold. Her other hand returned to it, hugging it against her as she openly wept.

His eyes strained. He stepped closer, May turning around and pulling him forwards- Happy and Pepper stepping forwards to keep him encapsulated in a safe bubble- Tony crouched down to pick up a handful of earth, cold in his fingers, and looked across, looked at May. Tony’s eyes didn’t leave the jumper as he rose, ankles clicking from the weight shift, his hand trembling, held out over the casket.

Finally, he saw it.

His palm opened, dirt crumbling out and over the casket. He didn’t look down.

Tony knew that the blue sweater found in the Hudson when Peter’s body was recovered was the one that had gone into police custody as evidence. They’d been quick to move his body along and get him into the ground, but neither Tony nor May had received any of Peter’s belongings yet. He was buried in a suit. His clothes were still in baggies.

 

But May was holding his sweater. His sweater with the glue stain that Tony remembered so well.

He turned to her, looking down at the fabric in her hands.   
She seemed to know his silent question-

“I went back to the flat- just- just once. It was on his bed. I just wanted to hold it to.. to remind myself of him. That’s all I have now.”

Tony’s mind was working overdrive.

Two sweaters. One Peter Parker. One body in the ground. One sweater in the police evidence room, one sweater in May Parker’s arms.

 


End file.
